


Curious is the Heart

by bloodyredpancakes



Category: Maleficent (2014), Maleval - Fandom
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Gen, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-03 01:40:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4081627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodyredpancakes/pseuds/bloodyredpancakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morning conversations between a certain Raven & his Mistress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Curious is the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> A short drabble for my Maleval heart.  
> I am extremely shy with my drabbles and writings, so dearest adoradork, thank you for putting up with my nonsense.  
> Happy 1 Year Anniversary, Maleficent fandom.

“Mistress?”

“What is it, Diaval.”

There was a quiver of movement and heavy fabric stirred with the restless wind.  
His neck was arched, pale as frost light.  
Maleficent eyed her servant, the man-raven was birdlike even in human form.

“How much do you miss flying?”, he probed. His tone shy and gentle but sure.

One of her eyebrows peaked slightly; inquisitive, stubborn creatures ravens were, really. 

And this one was being far too curious for his own good.  
She could almost see him in his raven form, feathers flushed and coy. His head cocked in a questioning fashion and sometimes it resembled a twitch. At times she would stroke him along his neck and he would like that very much.

A silly little grin had begun to spread across his face.  
Maleficent resisted the temptation to wave her hand at him.

They were both seated at the root of her tree, the very tree which she had known and loved when the moors were younger and trust was new.  
It was also the only tree she had slept in, and it appears that time had not touched it much, the leaves weaved in the same pattern and the branches swayed in the same fashion. The span of it’s might never receded, it’s grand trunk still matched the colour of her wings, but that was a long time ago. A ghost of an ache blossomed at the core where her wings used to be and a slight tremor travelled up her spine. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a barn owl soaring silently into the trees, the tips of it’s flight feathers quivering slightly in the rising wind.

It was still dark in the moors and the slipping moon rested low, a sliver of ivory on a jet black sky.  
The night hid nothing from her. The vast landscape in front was a canvas, touched in spills of ebony and silver.  
And much to her muted amusement, similar to a particular pair of dark eyes set on pale moonlit skin.

It was a very long pause before she spoke again.

“If this is an attempt to make small talk before first light, I highly suggest you try once more and wisely- before my patience runs out.”  
Maybe a few days as a wolf again would do him some good.

“Mistress, I assure you I am sincere. If I were still a raven, and only a raven- and nothing more than a raven, I would never have asked. Raveny things are simple, intricate yet simple. A broken wing means death.” Her eyes widened slightly at the word and he added quickly, “ I meant no offence, but I thought it would be the best I could do for your well-being. I am no less a human than you are Mistress, and I have wings like you once did. And even though they have been mine since the day I hatched, they are now yours to command. I thought you could at least express your thoughts freely for once, with me. The elder ravens say that it helps.”

“Are you implying that I am old?”

His eyes widened as he fell back from his stance, desperate with shock.

“Never! That was not what I meant at- Although that is an unfair statement to make, to bully your way through this conversation because I have no real knowledge of a typical life span of any faery folk. And in case you were wondering, ravens only live to about a good fifteen years, -with a lot of luck and _without_ magic.”  
Maleficent allowed herself the smallest of grins. There was a soft crease forming right above his brow and it deepened as Diaval folded his arms. He huffed about in his spot. A man-raven could still show his displeasure, with feathers or not. Although the smile on his lips was back, twining his mistress’ only very much broader.

“Come, Diaval.”

As she spoke, faery dust scattered from the twin swirls of gold that coiled around her horns.

Diaval was the first to stand, petting down his coat to shake off the invisible dust and grime. He then ran his thin fingers through his hair. It was a routine she had seen every day for the past decade, it was the same and yet different still. Sometimes as a man, sometimes a raven. But never a wolf or a mealy worm of any sort.  
She had never told him that she couldn't stand mealy worms herself.

His head of dark hair was now luminous and faint in the rising morning light.  
It looked warm to touch.

Maleficent lifted her hand into position, a familiar motion but yet before the rush of blood magic surged and erupted from her fingertips, she stopped herself.  
Her lips pouted slightly as she stole a glance at him.

He was staring earnestly in her direction. Waiting, anticipating for the change to come. Maybe a cat just this once, she had always wondered how a cat would look if they had full black eyes, complete with ear-tufts of feathers.

But no; not now, not today. She needed the company. The mere sound of his voice comforted her. A calm in her river of unspoken emotions.

“Walk with me.”

It was late spring.  
The route to the cottage was a long one. The moors were a sea of colours in the wake of dawn. Soft rays of sunlight bathed her robes in gold as they glide generously along the long grass, catching periwinkles in its folds.

“Thank you, Mistress.” 

Smiling, Diaval fell in step with her, eyes gleaming as they merged into the light.

His own dark coat glittered matching hers, trailing only slightly behind him.


End file.
